


Barely Breathing

by Paynes_Grey



Category: The Flash (TV 2014), The Flash - All Media Types
Genre: Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Depression, Desperate Barry, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friends to Lovers, Helpful Len, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, nemeses to friends to lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-27
Updated: 2019-05-27
Packaged: 2020-03-20 14:20:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18994348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Paynes_Grey/pseuds/Paynes_Grey
Summary: Barry didn’t want to think. Or feel. Especially not right now. Generally just not anymore.Not since yet another enemy, another day, another abandoned frozen dinner and half-eaten energy bar only served to remind him constantly of the price a bleeding-heart and hero complex will cost you. Reminds him a lot, of just how much that he’s lost. How much he's lost. Is losing.. And right now, it’s a grounding connection to reality. And the will to bring himself back down to it.





	Barely Breathing

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, I'm fascinated with mental health in my favorite characters. I would LOVE to see more realistic depictions of heroes overcoming mental obstacles because - it's real, and it's reality. You can't tell me Barry, lovable Barry, had seen his mother murdered (twice) lost his Dad, loved and lost his liar of a mentor- and NOT be battling some mental issues, I mean- come on! Barry is SO emotional! He definitely feels more than just anger and happiness SO here's a horribly real alternate story I felt was necessary and hey- made me get some sh*t off my chest while doing it, so! Here's to Barry's PTSD. 
> 
> IF YOU are having suicidal thoughts - I know this sounds corny and chiche but, suicide is scary, it's real, and it's painful. Please Call 1-800-273-8255 or text or call a friend or family member. I love you. <3

      Unknown to those who _knew_ him, and all of those who _perceived_ to know him, you would think, _expect-_ the fastest man alive would _zip_ everywhere and anywhere for anything or everything. But in reality, Barry found himself walking. A lot. You couldn’t imagine how slow that was to him, yet, he found himself trapped in this slowed pace as his legs at least tried to obey, silently creeping down the dark cracked sidewalk. More days now then not, he found that he didn’t _feel_ like running. Not physically. He _did_ want to run; but away.  Escape.

      He trudged on, watching as a foot stepped over a crack in the sidewalk. The childish saying, “ _or you’ll break your mother’s back,”_ elicited a bitter, scratchy sound from within his throat; leaving a sour, sarcastic smirk in its wake. His eyes were staring intently. Fixed; but unfocused.

      He strode sluggishly, mindlessly and numb; his thought processes running at even a slower pace than that, as if at the moment he were the only person in the world. With a nearly full moon behind dark clouds, the only light beaming around him was from the dim yellow street lamps, one of them fizzling out as he passed underneath of it; as if he were some ridiculous bad omen for events e _ventually_ bound to happen to the people he loved and cared about most. He didn’t- couldn’t- take the time to dwell upon it though, his mind was shifting into a blank dissociation now. Which was okay; because, he didn’t _want_ to think. Or feel. Especially not right now. Generally just not anymore.

      Not since yet _a_ nother enemy, another _day_ , another abandoned frozen dinner and half-eaten energy bar only served to remind him constantly of the price a bleeding-heart and hero complex will cost you. Reminds him a lot, of just how _much_ that he’s lost. How much _he's_ lost. _Is_ losing.. And right now, it’s a grounding connection to reality. And the will to bring himself back down to it.

      The very feeling of time had been warping so leisurely; stretched and endless like the speedforce wanted to aid him along in his agony by allowing him the rare experience to be able to feel all those painful, broken sorrows but even _longer_ and slower. He's certain he doesn't reside in the same world as the rest of his family and friends, being so lost and alone in his head. He’s missing the drive to survive, general care for, or to, his well-being. He’s seemingly unhooked himself from his personal connection to the Speed Force, that was the single most elated feeling he has- and will ever- experience. He’s losing _himself._ Which makes his heart _yearn_ and grieve for those blissful times that he _did_ and _could_  lose himself completely, but in the powerful, euphoric sense that was all around the Speed Force. That explosion that surrounds you and allows you to feel like you could conquer anything- accomplish anything. Invoking these prideful, powerful, in _credibly insatiably_ overwhelming jittery feelings of intoxicating ecstasy that there were no such definitions for to be described in words. You'd have to be with her to know her. The Speedforce.

      He’s having that same sensation again now, too. Feelings he couldn't describe to anyone because they'd only truly understand it if they had it in their very synapses and brain. But this is a feeling quite entirely different, Speedforce flipped on its axis. This time the indescribable feelings were so abhorrent, so visceral _, so irri_ tatingly _diffi_ cult to comprehend.

      He’s bitter and disappointed at himself. You can only share words, not feelings _._ He's always been able to see the light behind the darkness, that’s how people view the very essence of the man Barry Allen is supposed to be; light-hearted and generous. So he's angry and ashamed at himself for not being able to logically snap out of this crude ambient depression that engulfed him somewhere along the way of all the friends, family, and pleasant memories he currently has.

      But, all that pleasure from tapping into the Speed Force, wasn't the same now. He doesn’t feel that way from running anymore. No; _now_ when his heartbeat is thundering in his ears and he feels the weight and pressure of hot blood pulsing and throbbing through his electric veins- it isn't the mix of wild, aesthetic tingling adrenaline anymore, as much as it was worry, panic, and anxiety.

      He truly misses the buzzing feeling from head to toe that playing hero always brought him; the genuine satisfaction from being a key player in the game, participating in the thrill. He used to feel those emotions so _strong_ ly, that compared to his present perspectives on it all, here and now, just makes him realize all the more what he's missing out on. It’s like he’s lacking purpose.

      He scoffs that bitter, nearly desperate sound again. He both likes and dislikes the anger barely concealed in it. The sound he only makes to himself, when he knows no one else is listening. How can a _goddamn superhero_ be lacking purpose; what was _wrong_ with him!? Were things just _not_ exhilarating enough? Did he _not_ get enough love and support?! _Jesus._ Just what the _hell_ does he have to do? Bring back _Thawne_ because the last time he truly felt _normal_ was when he was fucking the man who ended up ruining his life?! How messed up could a person be to almost _miss_ the way that psycho held him at night? _Created_ him- mentored him. _Lied_ to him. Praised him. .  like a friend, a cheater, a lover, a God.

      Maybe he does deserve this and more. Maybe that’s why that scoff he growls makes him feel powerful; it reminds him of Eobard. He shakes his head with that confused smirk again and he sighs.

      He sighs until he shakes his head out of that wicked train of derailed thoughts, his legs still ever trudging away towards his destination. His feet abruptly leave concrete to settle under the dirt path leading up a dark green hill. He just wants to _feel._ He wants the will and energy and excitement back that so easily and readily engulfed him by just simply _being_ . By being, _The Flash._ His mind flashes through the days he felt on top of the world, and he feels his heart trip unsteadily because of what it finds, and how _ever_ so quickly it had conjured up that pretty face. Then his brain envisions even more as the face suddenly gains more detailed features.

      An attractive pull of facial muscles stretching across it as pulls on that devious and cunning smirk. His mind wanders to intense, deep, determined blue eyes that could be sharp; yet so _soft._ Soft. Barry imagines they’re just as soft as those most-times irritating- sometimes crossing lines of irresistible- looking lips. It would be nice to say goodbye to them. Might as well taste test them, too. If he’s not going to see them, or get the chance to again.

      He misses the way things had been. Misses the banter, he misses the shivers and chills that would wrack his body when the burning sting of absolute zero emcompasses all around his suit as he smirks through the pain to grind out a bad pun or two about how frosty the Captain was being.

      Anyone who truly knew Barry, knew he had such obvious tells. Even Barry wasn’t oblivious to this fact, though he never tried to hide it. Barry had never tried to hide his feelings. To Barry, he knew what it meant to love someone with the very essence of all your heart and soul, and also the intense, eternal, _long_ ing pain it brings on to lose it. To him, there was no need to waste time, if he longed for someone, he let it be known. He never understood any need for hiding away what he felt. It only seemed that way with Iris, because she wasn’t ready to see him through the loving brother eyes, and not the puppy-dog heart eyes he’d always seen her through. And now he knows she’ll never be able to. But with Snart, it was all an entirely different approach.

      He didn’t try to hold back the shivers that crept up his skin like goosebumps long after the thermal detonators kicked in. He was different. With Iris back then, he wasn’t living a double life; but Len _knew_ The Flash; and quite a lot more than Iris did, or could, or _would_ ever be able to understand or even grasp the entirety of it all. The power. The split decisions. The destruction. The chaos. The fun. The chase. A nemesis. A nemesis so enticing, addicting, always red-hot on his lightning trail, so ironically and iconically nicknamed _Captain Cold_.  

  


      Barry was powerful and extremely intelligent, and so was this man who he watched slowly change after every encounter, every pun, every unspoken, unbroken eye contact they shared. He knew off the bat what they were doing wasn’t just simple flirting. Barry knew what he was doing, and exactly whom he was doing it with.

      The fact that he used to be criminal, and currently is, has no effect on the desire he has towards the man. Barry understands. Hell, he could’ve, still _can,_ sometimes _has_ turned out to be the bad guy sometimes, too. Snart had a tough and awful upbringing, he did what he could do to survive with what he knew how to do, and he did it _well._ Barry holds nothing against Leonard Snart. He doesn’t want him locked him up, quite the contrary. Albeit, at first, he surely did like to lock him up- as for nothing more than to flash this bragging smirk he got to throw the other man, just to witness Len flip a similar one right back, because as much as Barry’s said, “ _Hah. Got you.”_ Leonard’s had spoken, _“Hah. See you soon.”_

      He wants to stare again, deep into blue, those narrowed and encompassing eyes that always intently spoke what his silent lips didn’t need to. Those heated icy eyes that had always turned him on when most of his feelings seemed _off._ And that’s not the most alluring thing. Len was _good_ enough to do everything Barry could do and more, with _out_ a tight red suit. Barry had to smirk as he rolled his eyes and huffed out a small sound before closing his mouth, it rested on a broken faltering smile, but a smile nonetheless; because it was just _another_ thing Len just _loved_ to point out in a teasing manner about Barry, how hot and form-fitting his heroistic alter-ego’s choice of outfit was.  

 

                  //XXXX//

  


      It was about that time when Len needed a break from the routine heists and needed a little more _Flash_ than what he’d been drinking; and craved more jitters that the namesake of the coffee shop itself couldn’t supply him. Planning a(nother) job only to lure out a red-clad cutie was Len’s more exciting and engaging version of a simple phone call. Plus, he knew the kid loved it _just_ as much. What the two shared was far better than silly semantics.  

      Len understood. It didn’t matter Barry was “good” and he was (mostly, pretty much) “bad.” There was nothing _dangerous_ about chasing the speedster. Both of them were highly capable of making their own decisions. And chasing after those trails of lightning was by _far_ one of the best things Len had going for him right now. Hell, for quite some time. Since the second he saw some charges of sparks of blazing yellows, since the moment a harsh gust of momentum blew past him and changed _everything_ .. Well, for someone like Leonard Snart, you could say he wasn’t simply captivated, he was _hooked_ . He had to up his game. Adapt. And he liked the thought of adapting to this new scenario. Changing with, and alongside, this scarlet speedster and challenging _him_ to up his game as well. Going as far to dawn a new outfit and harder persona because of _one_ man. Yeah, _hooked._

 

      It's not like Len was pressing buttons for the sake of pressing buttons, (mostly.) It was _Barry’s_ choice to hold eye contact always too long to be anything but subtle. If Len was someone caught by surprise, well, that may have almost done it. The kid initiating whatever this unspoken thing was between them. Speaking volumes within their interactions, but never in direct words. Ever so purposely locking those heated hazel's into his icy blues. His eyes wandering slowly astray to Len’s lips, then up again just as slowly, but with a little more heat. Barry was an adult, he could make what _ever_ choices he wanted to. And Len had no quarrels with the ones he’s chosen.

      You can’t be a _Snart_ and be able to neglect and admire such a _fine_ piece of art with a beautiful, tormented heart that, Len would say Barry, “wears on his sleeve,” but with Barry, it was more, “wears as an entire suit.” Len could always read situations like nobody else. He can read _people_ like nobody else. Their moods, thoughts, feelings, actions they were likely to make in the future he could see clearly like predictions. He seemed to have Barry pretty much a hundred and ten percent figured out by their second encounter, (about ninety by the first.) Barry wonders how much he has figured out about him _now._ Not that Snart could possibly know the torment in Barry’s head that's been keeping him chasing lines up and down the coast most of these restless nights. Barry was certain he’s hid it too well for even Len to figure him out.

 

      Leonard Snart rested back on his chair, fingers drumming slowly on auto as he sifted through thoughts of the Scarlet Speedster and a fun way to bring them together, and the best way to best him. Barry was clever, he was exceptionally smart. But was an embodiment of raw, flowing emotion. So Snart saw through his heart, knew _exactly_ how to win and to rip Barry apart, but he had never, and _would_ never, have a need for such a thing.

      Yes, he was good enough to be a criminal mastermind; but, he was a man of code, of loyalty, and respect. Honor. Yeah, he stole paintings and jewelry. But that didn’t bother Barry. That time he’d appeared at Saints and Sinners when he was in a crisis, and the first and best option to him that was integrated inside of his head was to rush to _Len_ for help to solve his problem. He walked right into the thief's space, staring directly into his eyes as he leaned ever closer.

      Len recognized that smell instantly. Other gift of his, his heightened senses. The smell of a fresh wave of ozone sent tingling spikes of adrenaline through Len. The distinct after-aroma he could pick up emanating into the otherwise stale air filled with tobacco and marijuana smoke. He could almost instinctively pick up the scent from the lingering crack of lightning and Speedforce, always pick up the musk of the sudden wild and fresh draft that followed the kid-God like his personal custom Superhero cologne. It had become Barry’s smell. His face turned up automatically, molding into his heated smirk when that particular gust of fragrance reached his nostrils. Couldn’t even walk half a _block,_ cocky kid.

      Len turned on his feet and could also smell the slight accompanying burning scent coming off of Barry’s now slightly singed clothes. Len smiled a little wider and moved from the pool table towards Barry as he gives a side eyed glance at Barry’s features, and leans his own body forward, collecting details and absorbing his feelings, already getting most of what Barry was about to say by reading his body language.

      One of the best things Len adored about Barry, was the kid was _such_ a fucking flirt; always cracking banter back and sometimes throwing a few innuendos in-between. The signals they both sent were direct, leaving nothing to guessing and everything to primal instincts. A trait shared between both men. Directness. (One) of the things he’s attracted to in Barry. So, he says he’ll help him, he’ll help him by teaching the kid a lesson; Barry can’t afford to think this ignorantly. If Len plants the seed inside that head that he shouldn’t come to criminals for help, he knew it’d benefit Barry at a later time, probably save him from a trouble or three. Plus, Len could free those metas and have them in his debt and get to work alongside Barry. Win-win-win. And besides, Len wasn’t particularly okay with the whole imprisonment agenda and he knew Barry would forgive him and he would see why he did what he did eventually when the smoke cleared. So he told the kid he’d help.

  


                  //XXXX//

 

       Barry couldn’t fight this. Not anymore. Not since even being a _meta_ -human, he still ended up failing.

      So, he’s decided to do something stupid, he tells himself. He’s done. With heroism, with being a regular citizen, with _life._ Not all heroes won every battle.

      He sighs as he finally reaches his destination at the top of the tall hill and gazes into the stars for long, lost moments. He stops at the edge of the cliff, taking it all in. Hearing the rushing waters lapping at the sharp rocks many feet beneath him. And he just stares. He eventually slumps down, criss-crossed in the dirt and small rocks, just breathing. Just existing. Why did just _ex_ i _st_ ing have to be so _hard?_ And since he was “blessed” with this “gift” which it really, truly was, that just made it _all the more_ harder and inconvenient _._ How selfish of him to throw it away. How terrible of him to feel _depressed -_ when he had everything.

      He wasn’t going to do it. Not here, not this way, not tonight. He was worried about when the time came.. If..? when..? The time came, that he’d let everyone down. How unfair. Fuck; he’s letting himself down.. Barry frustratingly clenched a pile of dirt and whipped it hard over the edge. Watching the rocks get swallowed up by the abyss much like he’s been watching himself do, too.

      It took a lot longer to _walk_ home, but that was the point. Avoidance. Not that Barry could tell how much time had passed, he was on autopilot. And the pilot was under the influence and was spiraling, barreling down towards the ground at harsh speeds. He was crashing. At least Flash work was distracting. The fight was a distraction. And he found out that, so was the pain. Almost a way to let the darkness out. Blood-letting. He scoffed. How ridiculous. But there he was, slowing down his footing and not calling upon the speed force as much as it was in his ability to; _allow_ ing himself be a little loose footed. Because the reprieve wasn’t all just in the chase, the win, the bantering. But in the whirlwind of whizzing bullets, collapsing buildings, roaring fires, blasts of debilitating ice lurching towards him. He liked all that very much, too.

      It made him feel less crazy, less lost, more focused, more grounded. To be frozen to a wall, smashed through brick and glass. Because, he could _feel_ that. And it took away the bullshit in his head that said he wasn’t going to be happy, ‘ _never happy again.’_ He sometimes _hears_ that fucking sentence reverberate through his tortured skull even in that man’s low, deceptively appreciating voice. And then he sees his face. Then he remembers. And then suddenly a blast propels him through the air and into the side of a building that his body leaves dented and smashed as bits of brick and dust crunch all around him and, he’s not stuck anymore; or scared. Or alone, or overwhelmed, no. Suddenly, he’s just _there._ In the here and now. In the moment. And he relishes in the throbbing burns that pulse around his body where he’s already bruising and bleeding. Most days now, it’s those feelings that bring him to hoist himself back up from his knees more than the encouraging voices in his coms. It was addicting, and, he healed fast anyways.

 

                        //xxxx//

 

      It only took a few more weeks of that, for him to decide it was finally enough. He sauntered through the labs and found himself sitting still and quiet in a swivel chair around the main computers. Staring absentmindedly past the desktop screens bouncing the name _Star Labs_ repetitiously, he had his chin resting on his fingers as he thought of what to say to his friends. He shuffles through the desk and starts to scribble a note. He's numb as he slowly inks every word onto the paper. He explains his absence is completely consensual. That he loves them, and that he's going away for awhile. That Central City became more of a reminder of his failures then a cozy place to live and protect. He concludes with not being sure when (though “if” is subtext) he'll end up coming back… home.

 

      He hears a door open distantly as he folds the paper into his pocket and waits for those shuffled steps that he recognizes belong to Cisco as they walk towards him.

 

      Cisco rounded the corner and beamed an automatic smile at Barry. “Sup, dude? Waiting for some action?” Cisco’s smile remains as he plants himself down on the chair next to Barry's, twirling a grape sucker around his loose lips as Barry returns the gesture, though it's still just as automatic.

      He pulls on his bravado and mask as easily as the one connected to his super suit as he answers back. “You know it. What baddie is gettin the cuffs today?”

            “Well, police scanner picked up a group of teens smuggling sweaters downtown?”

            “Shoplifters? Really? Police can have it. What else?”

            “What else? Like, what else is on, change the station?”

            “Yeah.”

            “Psh. K. I'll just pray for disaster.”

            “Thank you.”

            “Wait… here. Silent alarm tripped at Maine and 7th.”

 _Alright._ Barry slumps up from his swivel chair as Cisco’s immediately replacing it, twirling in a circle like an eager child. He looks up and Barry is staring at him, suited up, cowl on. “Be back in a flash.” He tries on a real smile. Cisco buys it of course. And then Cisco blinks and he’s staring at the empty rack case for his super suit.

 

      Barry’s comms were set up to only collect feedback and turn themselves on if Barry was seriously injured or presses the button himself, something of Barry’s own design, designed to give him more privacy, which he preferred these days; seemingly distancing himself from the ones who cared for him.

  


            “Alright, go.” Cold commands as he watches Mick haul heavy bags of jewelry out of the warehouse, and waits. Soon as a few precise minutes pass, a smile breaks across his face as he kneels lower and grabs a small grey wire, giving it a little snip. Now he waits another, five, four, three… and…”

            “Cold.” The hero’s voice ricochets off of the empty glass diamond cases.

            “ _Flash.”_ He drawls as he spins on his feet. He takes in Barry for a considerate moment, eyes casting up and down in a second, putting pieces together. The kid doesn’t look ready to put up any fight. His stance is slumped, easy. No tension in any of his body's features. “You look tired. Sorry to keep you up past your bedtime.” He keeps his Coldgun at the ready by his thigh, gloved fingers tapping at the side of it as he thinks.

      Barry puts on a half-hearted smirk. “I am.” Len catalogues the response as the other moves closer, not even eyeing any of the expensively and extensively and oh-so recently emptied glass cases of former valuables. “What’re you up to, Cold?” He says casually, he ends up stopping just feet from Len and stares, like this was any other normal conversation.

      Len takes in the man’s exhaustion, almost feels it by proxy. “Interestingly enough, it seems a superhero can still have bags under their eyes even _with_ excelled super healing.”

      Barry huffs. “Yeah, well, you can’t just _heal_ an unrested body. You actually have to _get_ sleep for that.” Len cocks his head.

            “Get some, then.”

            “Thank you for your sound advice, Captain Obvious.” Barry half-asses a solute and sarcastic flourish. “Now,” Barry eyes Len down and up then finally allows them to wander in an inspective search around the room for a moment. “What’re you still doing here if your partner and the three bags of jewelry are already gone?”

            “That’s curiously specific, Flash. You must have seen Mick with the loot then, meaning, you let him get away, of course. I mean, that’s our deal and all. After that, you could have just left, so, I suppose I should be asking _you_ the same question.” Len’s smirk brings his eyes to scrunch slightly ever-so endearingly, though there was an odd ache in his chest that seemed something was seemingly _off_ with Central’s ever-charming hero.

            “I’m guessing our answers are one in the same.” The air speaks softly what the two don’t bother putting a voice to as it echoes rather loudly, _I’m here to see you._

            “Mm.” Len replies, taking just a step closer, a witty remark on the tip of his silver tongue.

            “I wanted to see you.” Len _act_ ually stops in his tracks. Barry has never put his feelings into words, he and Len alike usually deal with gestures, meanings, and intentions. Len was actually taken back for a split moment. It was just, unexpected. And Len didn’t _do_ unexpected when he _knows_ people. “I-.. well I, I’m taking a break. For a little while, so, wanted to say-” _Goodbye._ “-that.” Now there was Barry. Avoidant and non-confrontational when dealing with his own messy tangle of emotions.

            “Mm-hm. And, Hero’s can just take breaks like any other day job, then? Do you have vacation time? Tell me again, Barry. How much does that pay?” There was that tense, underlying smile again. Barry moves again into his space, just like the night at Saints, he’s just inches away. But Barry doesn’t tease this time.

            “Well, I _do_ get to do _this._ So.” He just simply moves forward, lips ghosting Len’s, his hot breath against them whispering. “ _Can’t be all that bad.”_ And just simply pushes the rest of the way and presses his lips onto Len’s as both of their mouths part instantly and capture a kiss, or two, or, quite a few.

 _“Mm.”_ Len subconsciously replies, feeling Barry’s rumble, too, against his face as warmth envelopes his parka. Then Barry pulls back with Len’s lower lip caught in his teeth and disconnects the kiss only for what Len could only swear wasn’t even a literal second before Barry’s up against him, hands at the back of his head and neck and pulling him harder to meet and match his pace.

      Len’s arms are around that red suit before he even consciously makes the decision, hands low at his waist as Barry backs them up and Len’s back is suddenly met with the cold cement wall and his eyes are opening and closing caught between seeing this moment and experiencing it. His inner warning lights are flashing rapidly, not because of the initiation of his best fantasies, but the situation around it. There was a _reason_ to accomplish something on your bucket-list. There was always a _reason_ for finally doing something you haven’t yet done. And this all after Barry says he’s seemingly “ _leaving for awhile.”_ And the state of exhaustion he’s found the man in, has Len’s stomach in the worst of knots.

      Barry pushes harder and is flush against him, hands now leaving his head and are inside his half-zipped parka, wandering around to Len’s side and behind to his lower back pulling close again, lips still locked and his eyes still mostly closed. Len gasps, mind racing. The sensation of the man he’s been borderline obsessing over, pushing him hard against a wall and ravishing him for a reason Len needs to figure out.

 _“Scarlet.”_ Len gasps again, placing both hands gently on the speedsters stomach and giving a gentle push away, but not _right_ before he swears Barry’s lips trembled or vibrated, but caught something in-between being pleasurable, and painful. “ _Scar_ let..” He says again, gentler. And Barry finally pulls back. Eyes low and lips plump and wet. But his _eyes._ His full hazel eyes are so _empty._ And just as simply as he’d pushed his lips to Len’s, he simply pushes away.

            “Thanks. Always wanted to do that.” He winks and turns his back to flash away.

      Anxiety spikes through Len’s heart like a fucking thunderbolt screaming, _“don’t let him leave!”_ He thinks about calling out his name but his arm darts out and grabs Barry’s in a tight grip as to not let him slip away, and the next words that tumble out of his mouth are the only ones he can think of fast enough to prohibit Barry from leaving.

            “My place.” Is the puff of breath that leaves Len, and he sees a little flicker of life light up inside of Barry’s eyes.  

      Barry stands so still, Len’s arm clutching his own; and he stops dead-still to process the request. Well. He _had_ planned to end it all tonight, but, the new proposition Len was offering would sure be a good ‘last rodeo’ before he did it. In fact, how _could_ he say no given the opportunity?

      Barry bore his eyes into those bolts of blue, and Len saw the very moment he gave in, his anxiety melting instantly. He had him. He had _time._ He needed to pull this off, _right._ Or he had a foreboding feeling he would regret it the rest of his life.

      Len mumbled off an address to one of his more upper class safehouses and in a blink, they were standing in it. Len’s breath was already labored, little did Barry know it was more from just lust - and maybe Barry’s was, too. Without hesitation he moves again into Len’s space and kisses him. Deep. Wanting. Len returned it with as much angst as was given, and he didn’t have to exaggerate it for a second, though thoughts were running through his head probably as fast as someone with the speedforce formulating a plan to keep Barry there, and _safe,_ for the remainder of the night.

 _“Len.”_ Barry breathed, and _goddamn_ did Len deserve a gold medal for being able to multitask keeping his crush of a nemesis in his arms and on his lips while trying to sort through options to keep a speedster from running away. Len’s arms snaked around Barry’s back as he slowly took steps backwards and Barry followed lead towards the bedroom as the mattress hit Len’s knees he swiftly turned and laid atop Barry who’s back splayed across the bedspread. Len bit his lip as a moan tore from the same mouth it was attached to and Len clasped a fistfull of dark navy sheets and drawled a long, relieved groan himself. Huffing, he kissed Barry a few more times and leaned back a few inches.

            “Okay, Barry. Give me a minute to grab some supplies. I swear I’ll be so fast it’ll make a speedster jealous.” Barry huffed out a laugh and Len rushed out of the room to return in 14 seconds, (a life’s time for a speedster) with something in his belt, Barry figured he’d find out what it was in a second, and wrapped his long runner legs around Len’s waist and tugged him closer as they exchanged more heated and breathless kisses.

      Len grabbed Barry’s arms and hoisted them upwards and Barry was in the middle of a moan when a series of _clicks_ startled him out of the fantasy of sexy hero slash nemeses sex, and back into painful reality as he felt a sick, nauseous _slowness_ slither across him and settle achingly deep into his bones. He could barely form thoughts in his sudden confusion as he looked up to the power-dampening cuffs around his wrists- his wrists that were trapped, indefinitely, to his nemesis’s headboard, and trailed his eyes back onto Len who now suddenly seemed.. concerned, calculated. Not exactly the feelings Barry had expected after successfully trapping, fooling, and humiliating your enemy..  

      Barry grit his teeth, unsure what exactly was happening here. Len didn’t seem like he was faking anything, so _why_ slap these cuffs on his wrists and dare to sit atop of him looking, _sad. Mournful.?_

 _“_ How long have you had these?” He spit out, still grinding his teeth.

      Len just took a deep breath in, and moved off of Barry to the side by his feet, staring into his eyes honestly. “I’ve had them for awhile.”  
      Barry huffed. “Obviously planning to use them for the perfect, _opportune_ moment, huh?” Len nodded slowly, surely, and a bit.. solemnly. “And why, pray _tell,_ is that _now?”_

      Len moved his lips for a second before leveling Barry with this myriad of confusing emotions consisting of upset, thoughtful, and understanding. Len spoke his answer. “Was waiting to catch you off guard-” Barry began to voice his angry response but Len cut him off; “-for when I _really_ needed a get-away.” Barry was left speechless, confused. Len didn’t “ _really need”_ a get-away right now. So, why.?  Len saw his confusion and confliction and spared him the guessing game. “Instead, looks like I’m playing my hand early; and using them to make you _stay.”_

            “You don’t strike me as the creepy type. So. Are you seriously kidnapping me, Cold?” Barry grit out.

            “Seems the logical thing to do. Seems like instead, I’m now using them to save you, or more-so _stop you..”_ Len paused to gauge Barry’s reaction- and what he saw confirmed the truth more than he already needed. He sighed. “ _Barry._ What’s going on?” He asked.

      Barry was ready to fight the allegation- but- what was the point in putting up the front anymore? Especially to someone so intelligent and capable. Someone like _Len._ So he simply answered a defeated, “How did you know.?”

            “.. I wasn’t a hundred percent convinced until that last sentence, guess I was being naive.. But, you’ve been being so reckless, in ways you’re far too smart to be being. The fact that you kissed me tonight, all shyness aside, you went for it, with _finality._ Kinda stirred something off in my gut. The way you looked so tired; exhausted. How it comes off of you in waves. You seemed so, done.. Barry.. What are you planning to do?” Barry finally turned to meet Len’s eyes and saw dampness in those blues. His mind fighting viciously between numb and overflowing as he continued.  

            “I have this… needle..” Len’s heart seized in a painful, worried grip. “It’s full of this substance the team and I concocted to use against Zoom.. it robs a speedster of his powers.. And..” Barry trailed off, eyes avoiding Len’s.

            “You were going to take it.” Len finished for him. Barry nodded.

            “Yeah… and jump off a cliff.”

 

      The silence was deafening between them for moments that stretched on about the same amount of time for both human and meta-human. Then Len spoke.

            “Barry, I’m so sorry you’ve been suffering this bad all by yourself.” Barry was quiet for a moment before some renewed, all-too familiar frustration returned.

            “You think keeping me here is going to change my mind, Len? My emotions? Thinkin 24 hours in a makeshift psych ward will give me enough time to suddenly get my bearings? Think, maybe I just haven’t thought about ‘how meaningful my life is’ hard enough?” Barry’s chuckle was wet and pained. Len shook his head.

            “No.” Barry looked startled at his response. “No, I don't. And I wish to God I could say any other word than that, Barry. Believe me.. But, no. I know that you’re exceptionally smart and clever, I know you think everything through, thoroughly and with certainty. I think you came to the conclusion that this pain that you’ve been suffering with has outweighed the life you live. I know you’re aware how much pain this will bring everyone because of how much they love you. I’m sure you you weighed out every single consequence and still ended up with the same conclusion. And, I’m sorry, kid. I really am.”

      Tears were streaming down Barry’s face as he broke. His tears turned into a cry, his cry into screams, his breaths into sobs, and his numbness into anguish.

 _“I tried so hard Len.!”_ He sobbed. “I tried to live on.. I tried to live on for my Mom and Dad.. I tried to live on for my friends, my family; for my mentor who became my best friend, my confidant, my… my lover.. My _enemy._ ” He seethed. “I tried to live on for them. For the city. But, it hurts so much, everyday. I’m just so _numb._ And, I’m _sick_ of being numb. Snart.” His breathing hitching, chest rising and falling. “I’m goddamn _sick_ of being in pain. Which concludes to, how fucking _sick I am_ of being _alive!”_ He sobbed. He sobbed into air until that empty air became a warm pair of enveloping arms. He sobbed into Len’s neck. He sobbed until he felt the anguish lesson, if even a bit. If even it was back into numbness. As if just letting his feelings and intents known had chipped off some of his suicidal ideation for the moment. He realised then that Len had been saying sweet, soft words into his ears; despite it not helping his desperate screaming, he was still saying continuous genuine and calming words to Barry as he cried.

      After awhile Barry muttered guiltily, “I’m sorry…”

      Len shook his head as he leaned back. “No, Barry. You don’t have to be.”

      There was silence again between them before Barry chuckled. “Sorry for putting such a damper on our relationship.”

      Len cracked a soft smile. “You know I like to spice things up, kid. And, getting to know you even better, especially if you’ve been feeling this way, is fine by me. If I somehow get to help you in anyway, Barry; I’d be very okay with that.”

   Barry was silent, staring at Len for searching. moments. “You… you really wanted to.. save me?” Barry said, looking at the soft blue paint of the far wall.

            “I never wished you harm, kid; since the first heist where you bested me.” Barry’s eyes flickered to his. “Never.”  He voiced sincerely. “Honestly? Me, Mick, and Lisa? Hell, half the Rogues Gallery- and thanks for the cute nickname by the way- hell, our favorite pastime is watching the news an seein you beat the shit outta bad guys, Barry. We like you. Even though we don’t like to admit it… Hell… Lisa tells me that all the time..” Barry looked at him with question. “That I like you more than I like to admit to..”

      There were questions and answers forming in the pursuing silence. “I, like you, too.. Len.” Barry said softly. “Too bad life has a way of not allowing us to have what we want, huh?” He huffed angrily. Len sat, thoughtful. “It’s not like this could’ve _ever_ gone beyond a hook-up, Len; and we both know it.” Barry’s eyes were fixed on any other spot but Len. “Even if it feels right..” He all but whispered.

            “See, funny thing is, with me and my lifestyle, Barry- I like a thing, I figure out how to get it.”

      Barry huffed again. “Yeah? Well, you gunna keep me chained up here, _master thief,_ forever. What’s your endgame?”

            “Hm. Right now? To not lose what I have my hands on.” Barry looked up at him with a remorseful tinge. “How about we try coffee and some dinner? We’ve never tried that, yet. Usually we just, ya’ know, beat eachother up, foil each others plans. Ever think we’re doing this relationship thing wrong?”  
Barry laughed. “No.”

            “Oh.” Len laughed back.

            “You… want to have dinner… with me..?”

            “Yes, Barry Allen. I want to have dinner with you. Not because I’m trying to save you, you know I’m just doing it for selfish reasons, that’s all.” Len winked.

            “Well, surely. I know your MO, Captain Cold.” Barry chimed back.

            “See, the only thing is- I’m going to need to _trust you-_ kid..” Barry’s stomach felt like he swallowed a particularly jagged two-ton weight as his gaze shied away. “ _Barry.”_ Len said commandingly until their eyes met again. “I swear, I _promise-_ to give this a shot- if _you_ promise the same thing. The rest- we work on one minute, of one day, at a time.”

      The air went tense again between them as Barry huffed out a sigh the room seemed to sigh with him as everything relaxed a margin. “Okay..” Len didn’t move. “Okay, I promise to give it a try…”

      Len sighed perhaps in an audible relief, he couldn’t be sure, but he moved to undo the cuffs; leaning over Barry’s body he glanced a peek down before undoing the last click and saw Barry eyeing him, biting his lip. He looked so, _beautiful._ Then he smirked. “I mean, at least _for sure_ I’d like to try those lips again. Goddamn, Len. You are so _beautiful_.”

      Len stiffened slightly as the cuffs came undone, Barry looking at him wide dough-eyed and mouth slightly agape as he leaned up on his arms.

            “..What?” Len huffed.

            “Oh my _God;_ did I just make Captain Cold go _red?”_ _  
_             “Ugh, you’re ridiculous.”

            “My color looks good on you.” He said cheekily.

            “Yeah, well, so does mine.” He shot back with a devil’s grin as he eyed Barry atop of his navy sheets it was Barry’s turn to blush.

      Len stood up. “Look, I.. have some extra clothes. I could make some hot cocoa and we could talk, or not-talk, if you’d like.?”

      Len was something special.

            “Y-yeah.. Yeah I’d like that.. For some reason..” Barry’s bravado and adrenaline seemed to leave him at this moment, replacing it with the usual doubt and shyness. _“It feels safe here..”_ he mumbled to the bed as Len stopped, one hand on the doorframe and turned to look back at him.

            “Well, my plan is, that I hope to further convince you that you’re right about that.” And he turned away to gather the ingredients for the world’s best cup of hot chocolate ever made.

 


End file.
